Is This A Bad Time?
by LiluyeAsala
Summary: Solange Lavellan wakes up from her accidental nap to hear a lot of interesting cursing coming from the entrance hall.


Prompt from tumblr via slamfistofthemaker: How would your Hawke, Inquisitor and Warden all meet? What would they say as a first encounter? Where would this happen and would Companions be involved?

Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age.

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Solange Lavellan jerked awake at the loud shouting sound, her cheeks aching from where she had fallen asleep on top of some sort of shard pile (slate, iron...she didn't recall). She rubbed her eyes, looking around. The sun shone through the window of her office in a deep russet color...had she slept though lunch? Again? The diplomat girl wouldn't be happy with her at all. Solange looked towards the half open door, scratching her head in confusion. What was that sound?

She pushed out of her chair, stretching upwards towards the ceiling and arching her back until she felt her spine adjust with a snap-snap-snap into proper alignment. Solange yawned and padded towards the hallway - was that shouting in a different language now? - pushing the door open with sleepy curiosity. What had happened since she'd fallen asleep?

~O~

Oh.

Solange was never quite sure what happened in the mind of the spymaster. The woman was kind, nearly to a fault, and tolerated all of Solange's questions as to the human race as a whole as well as the smoky butterfly-wing words that compiled the Orlesian tongue. However, she had answered very sparingly upon questioning as to what had happened in the Fifth Blight - specifically, the fate of the hero.

And now, Solange knew why.

The redheaded woman had lost all composure, shouting in a mixture of multiple languages and brandishing her hands like they were weapons. Her eyes - nice eyes, Solange had always thought, pleasant eyes that smiled and danced and paid attention - were sharp and angry now, like chips of ice solely dedicated to glaring at the figure standing a few paces away from her. The other figure, a woman who looked like she was supposed to be tall, stood small as Leliana shouted at her. Her ragged black hair was disheveled and unkempt, but did not in any way obscure the tan skin and blue eyes, nor the elfin ears (ear, Solange corrected herself, for one was quite mangled) that had been sung of in countless ballads depicting the brave Atalanta Tabris, Grey Warden and Hero of Ferelden.

"Comment pourriez-vous me laisser?!Comment osez vous revenez maintenant! Où es-tu allé? Pourquoi êtes-vous allé? Je ne peux pas croire vous! Je pensais - je me trompais! Dis-moi pourquoi, Atalanta, dites-moi!" Leliana raged, her cheeks shining with angry tears and her voice ascending to soprano pitch. The famed Grey Warden said nothing and did nothing, merely watched her with a strange fascination, like a blinded man would upon seeing the sun for the first time in decades.

That was all Orlesian, what Sister Nightingale was shouting, Solange could tell. Most of what the once-bard said was lost to the Dalish Inqusitor, but she could puzzle out a few of the words - those being "Tell me why" and "How could you".

(Solange also noticed the sweet scribe girl - Josephine, she believed her name to be - practically hiding behind a curtain, observing with an expression nearly as intrigued as Solange felt.)

With each phrase, Leliana took a step closer to the city elf turned heroine, her chest heaving with fury, up until the last word faded into oblivion and the two were practically standing nose to nose.

(Out of the corner of her eye, Solange saw the doors on the other side of the room creak open, and in slipped a scantily dressed woman with a large bosom and heavily tanned skin, followed directly by a more lithe brunette dressed in practical clothing and brandishing a staff. Both of them froze upon seeing the pair in the center of the entrance hall turned stage.)

"Leliana," the Warden said, her voice revealing itself to be husky but nice to the ear like an autumn rain would be. "I'm sorry."

And with those three words, although its meaning seemed to be something rather small and pitiful considering the intensity of Leliana's rant, the spymaster's arms were suddenly around the Warden's neck and they were both on the ground, Leliana's form shaking as the Warden whispered something into the bard's hair and stroked her back.

"Is this a bad time?" one of the new arrivals piped up, twiddling with her staff's adornment awkwardly. The Warden and Leliana seemed to be oblivious, so Solange quickly skirted around the prone pair and approached the speaker.

"They seem to be having some kind of reunion," she explained, her cheeks flushing with faint embarrassment. "I am not too sure. Who are you looking for? That is, if you are looking for someone. It's perfectly all right to not be. I just assumed you would be."

The dark skinned woman smiled, flashing white teeth and a golden lip ball that Solange had failed to notice.

"Aww, she's adorable," she cooed. "Reminds me a bit of -"

"Merrill, yes," the other agreed. "I'm Tahki Hawke. This here is Isabela - we came to make sure demons or something don't overthrow the world? That's what we heard, at any rate. Would you happen to know where the Inquisitor is?"

Solange's flush increased.

"That would be me," she said, half-raising her hand. "I am Solange Lavellan, but everyone here insists on that title so that is how I usually introduce myself. Do either of you have titles? ...is that a normal thing to ask someone?" she added as an after thought. The buxom woman smirked.

"Just like Merrill." She swept into a curtsey. "I'm known as Captain. Hawke here, she's the Champion of Kirkwall. You up for a pint, Inquisitor?"

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If you want to send me prompts, my tumblr URL is onceuponakatie, where I normally post things first :)

Leave a comment telling me what you think!


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